


Abandoned Swords

by orphan_account



Series: The Meaning of "Ruling" [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Big life changes, Heartbreak, M/M, One-sided Conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:00:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8138219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You don’t want to be King.” Merlin said, his voice blank.





	

“I don’t understand.” 

“It’s perfectly simple, Merlin,” Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. “Even a fool like you should be able to follow this plan. There are, quite literally, only two steps in it. I disappear from Camelot, King Gwen takes over.”

Merlin’s brain was drowning. The voices of dragons and spirits, Gaius and all the knights, a great amalgam of discourse was exploding in his head both instantaneously and slowly. His ears were ringing. Something was wrong. Something felt wrong.

“You’re leaving.” Merlin said. 

“Yes,” said Arthur. “That is the first part of the plan. You’re halfway there.”

“You don’t want to be King.” Merlin said, his voice blank. 

Arthur opened his mouth, possibly to lob yet another excessively sarcastic reply into the increasingly bitter air, but after an awkward pause, he closed it again. He ran a hand through his long golden hair, the same beautiful hair Merlin could spend hours combing if such a thing were acceptable, then turned and sat on the end of his bed. 

“I don’t actually know what any of those words mean,” he finally replied, tone still petulant, but his voice nearly inaudible. 

Merlin’s heart was throbbing. Did his secret really weigh on Arthur thusly? Was this pure vulnerability Merlin's fault, for keeping something so important from so important a friend? Kilgarrah had never mentioned this enemy. Perhaps Merlin's long tale had not proved his devotion.

“Arthur,” Merlin began, his throat closing. “I know it’s been hard, since your father’s death. I know, but you have to believe that you were meant for this. You wear the crown, you pulled the sword from the stone, you brought us around the Table.”

Arthur snorted and pulled Excalibur from his belt. He twirled it around skillfully in his palm, handling it with an ease that simply no one else could. Once, Arthur had accidentally tore open one of his thick ugly callouses, an inadvertent dagger facing the wrong direction in a bag had slipped under all that rock hard, built-up skin. Merlin had watched in disgusted fascination as Arthur simply tore it off, wrapped up the smarting skin and moved on, like it was nothing. Within a week of his dedicated training plan, from which Merlin had never once witnessed Arthur deviating, it was back and healed, thicker, tougher; Arthur's hands were grotesque. Merlin woke in the middle of the night, longing to put Arthur's weathered palm under his lips. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur said through a familiar condescending smile. “You are a very good liar. A very good one.”

Merlin, ashamed and angry, fighting against the grey fog blocking his view, burst out, “I already told you why I lied and you already told me you understood! We can’t keep having this same conversation again and again. Either you understand, Arthur, either you forgive me, or you don’t. I can’t handle waiting around for your verdict. I’ve done too much waiting to be treated decently for a lifetime!”

Arthur, face red, eyes dark, fists clenched, began to laugh. He laughed and laughed, harder and harder. He bent over and wheezed, clutching his stomach, letting his sword clatter to the ground. He laughed until he was no longer making a sound, until tears streamed down his face. He laughed hysterically, like there was nothing in existence that wasn’t a farce, that wasn’t a joke. Merlin had heard that laughter once before, helping Gaius with the more helpless patients under his care. It wasn’t an episode he ever wanted to revisit. 

“Arthur,” he pleaded weakly. “What, Arthur, what is it?”

Arthur dropped his head into his hands and breathed deeply before attempting to speak again. 

“Do you,” he whispered before clearing his throat and saying out loud, “Do you remember when I asked you why, why you put yourself through so much misery and lived in so much fear, why you continued to serve a man who killed the love of your life, who threatened your life with his ignorance, who’s father made you live a lie to your closest friends, to even Gwen, for so long?”

“Yes, I remember.” Merlin said, desperate to get on firmer footing. “Yes, I remember the question and my answer.”

“Yes,” said Arthur, throwing Merlin a grin so cold and empty Merlin wanted to set a fire on his lips. “Yes, your answer, what was that again? That I’m the “Once and always King” or some such nonsense?”

“You’re the Once and Future King,” Merlin replied reverently. “You’re destined to unite all five kingdoms, to have a great legacy of wealth and peace. You’re to bring freedom and prosperity to us all. You’re but one side of coin, and Emrys is the other.”

Arthur let out a spectacular high pitched giggle. “Once and Future King,” He said to himself, shaking his head. Then he looked up at Merlin, the cool amused mask slipping off to reveal…

“And Emrys is you,” he asked in a whisper. 

“Yes.”

Arthur’s smile was devastated. He looked as if he would cry but had run well out of tears hours before. He looked drained of everything Merlin thought to be Arthur; confidence, fire, authority, nobility in the best of forms. 

“That’s why I’m leaving, Merlin,” he whispered. “I’m not that King. I’m not even a very good friend. I’m definitely not a very good brother. I’m certain I’m not a good husband. The only thing I’ve ever been good at was sword fighting, hunting down your innocent creatures with dogs and great big spears, and telling obnoxious servants to clean out the horse stalls.”

Merlin had nothing to say to this. Not a single part of it made sense. How could Arthur have gotten such a false image of himself? How could he have gone from one end of the spectrum, a proper arrogant bully, to this Arthur before him, mechanically taking off his crown and tying his smallest traveling satchel closed. 

“But you are, Arthur! You are meant to be King! We’re meant to - ”

“Please, just stop, Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice wavering between a quaking sound to a breathy whisper. “Please, stop talking. It’s already done. The well being of the Kingdom is in Gwen’s hands.”

He picked up a piece of rope and started to tie his old longbow to the side of his pack, wrapping the string tightly around it's beautifully carved wooden end. 

“Your dragon chose wrong.” 

He attached his quiver to his waist, then slung his sack over his shoulder. 

“Watch,” he said, grinning wickedly. “I can dress myself. I’ve been fooling you this whole time.”

He tied his thickest cloak across his shoulders and pulled up the cowl. 

“Don’t do this, Arthur,” Merlin found himself begging. “If you go, let me go with you.”

“What, and leave Gwen to fight off countless magical threats all on her own? Don’t be dense, Merlin.” 

“Please, don’t go. I’m begging you, sire,” Merlin said in one last reaching attempt as Arthur walked so casually to the door, dressed in nothing but tough leathers for the road. Tough leather that felt about as soft as Arthur's over-worked palm. 

Arthur placed one hand on the door knob, paused, then lifted it again. 

“You don’t mean that,” Arthur said, still facing the door. “You don’t mean it.”

And Merlin, shocked to his bones, feeling as if he was treading muddy water in the pitch dark in the hour just before dawn, let out sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. 

“No,” he said, “You’re right. I don’t mean it all. You're a prat. You’re just a prat.”

Arthur turned around slowly and pulled his sack down from underneath his cloak, leaning it carefully against the door. He walked up to Merlin, his eyes downcast, as he pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his belt. When he was a couple feet away from Merlin, who was doing his best to breathe, he reached forward with quivering hands and tenderly wrapped up one of Merlin's own in their strength. 

“I am,” he said, forcefully. “I'm a prat. And I'm yours. That's more my fate than anything - ”

Merlin's free hand flew up when Arthur's sure voice broke. He touched the underside of his jaw and tilted up Arthur's red face. Arthur, suddenly abandoning his slow solemn movements, grabbed Merlin's gentle fingers, tugged him forward and placed a rough kiss on the side of Merlin's mouth. After an anxious moment, their faces pressed starkly together, their hearts and breath naked and squirming, where some extra set of ears twitching inside of Merlin's head listen to the sound of distant glass breaking down distant stone, they start kissing in mutual earnest. Arthur's arms fold across Merlin's back and shoulders encasing both of them in a temporary bubble outside of time.

The air particles in the room are bursting into sparks of colorful heat, the curtains are thrown open, the last of the day's light practically pours in like the castle has been overwhelmed by a flood of pure sunset. Every bone in Merlin’s body is warm for the first time in his life. His long fingers are gripping Arthur’s hair and his mouth is breathing in Arthur’s personal fire. 

Arthur pulls back, tears flashing in his eyes. 

“I’ll write you.”

He pulls the cowl of his cloak further over his forehead, obscuring his face in shadow, then leaves; leaves Merlin; leaves Excalibur lying abandoned on the cold stone floor.


End file.
